Ich bein ein Berliner

Part of the last crazy catch up couple of years has involved sampling all aspects of this gay world we live in.  Folsom Europe being one of them.  My oh my - even the admission to work colleagues of a weekend in Berlin felt like the ultimate sordid secret.

We'd deliberately chosen a hotel close to the centre of things - ridiculously expensive and full of elderly Americans loitering in the hallway - noted for next time.  Berlin was great - the man who got in our carriage on the underground one night pushing a trolley containing a vast boom box (and who then got everyone in the carriage dancing) summed up the anarchic feel of the place. 

As for Folsom... well we crammed our entire Berlin sightseeing into two hours on Sunday afternoon - very bad.

Meet the parents

We hadn't introduced any other parents into the mix since the disaster in February (see my first posting) when my father decided that a seizure might liven things up.  Last Friday evening saw another attempt with us hurtling Northwards with R at the helm glowering at me as I desperately sent my last few texts to friends before we hit a world without telephone masts.  It felt like I might not come back - R's Dad has a lot of guns.

As we headed up the drive I swallowed the inclination to see what happens if you open the door and roll out of a speeding car.  Not only was I meeting R's parents for the first time but I was the first boyfriend of R's they'd ever met.

R's mother rose to the occasion and greeted me like a long lost relative.  R's father looked at me like the dodgy boyfriend of a beloved daughter. 

Supper was delicious and wine oiled the wheels but as bedtime loomed the hanging question of where we were going to sleep felt like a giant neon elephant in the room - pirouetting. Finally R put us all out of our misery and asked the question.  His parents had risen to the occasion.  Not only had they prepared a double room but also R's old twin room and the choice was ours.  Muttering something R hurtled for the stairs without a backwards glance.  His relief when I finally tracked him down was palpable.

Grow your own

A country show in Central London - who knew!  Emboldened by the fact that things weren't dead in the new garden after six weeks and assaulted on every trip to Homebase by acres of Jamie Oliver seedlings I gave it a go. 

The tension was palpable as we hit the exhibition tent and I half expected to see Miss Marple emerge fro amongst the fuchsias.  The cute guy next to me was arranging a rather tiny courgette - "it's a climbing courgette - a trombocino - what's yours?" he asked waspishly.  Other than the fact mine was pretty sure it was courgette and even better - yellow I didn't have a clue - bastard. 

Three hours later I'd won £3.23 in prize money and R's blatant use of glittery red accessorising pom pom had secured him a second in the tomatoes entry.  It was one of the best days ever and the trombocino? Disqualified.

Darkness visible

I've always been fascinated by leather. 

This (latent) facoination wasn't helped by an enocunter with a guy several years ago who who invited me to come with him to a leather club, changed into leather chaps and dragged me off into a corner.  Head explodes.

R has never been convinced by gratuitous purchases and was resistant to my attempts to introduce leather kit into our relationship and house what looks like abandoned horse tackle. Dressing up with a two hundred quid price tag? Bugger off.

Things reached a head one weekend when we decided to visit aforementioned club. Bypassing the queue to change and wearing black jeans and boots we thought we'd blag it with a black bin bag tucked between our legs holding our t-shirts and coats..

Nightmare

The rage from the other (dressed up) punters was palpable.  The bag ripped spilling clothes onto the floor and we scurried off into the night.  Key learning points - never attend a leather night in a leather club in a pair of dark blue Gap jeans.  R hissed that he would never go back - that lasted approximately three weeks.

Break up

Two weeks of talking and tears, confusion and fear.

After five months R and I had to move forward with our lives. After years of agonisng R had decided to tell his family that he was gay and with the release that kind of conversation brings wanted to move forward with his life - with or without me. 

We had always been clear that my relationship breakdown was my issue but it was a frightening leap into the dark with no guarantees of what the future might hold. 

The reasoning behind my decision isn't for here but finally one Friday in early September it was over.

The next day I met R on the roof of the Trafalgar Hilton for drinks.  A new chapter.

Pleasure and pain

R was in the car beside me and we were heading out of London for the first time.  I was going to show R my much-loved cottage and the journey flew by as we counted down the strawberry sellers by the side of the road heading further and further west. 

Finally we reached the village and a day in the garden followed attacking the over-grown mess that is a Cornish garden within 24 hours of abandonment.  Supper was simple - a good roast chicken and a bowl of strawberries in the summerhouse with lots to drink.

We'd been naked now a couple of times before but not like this.  We took advantage of an abandanoed mattress and had sex on the summer house verandah.  The sounds of raucous Saturday-night laughter from yachts down in the estuary gradually gave way to quiet as we ducked and swayed under a a great dancing Cornish sky long into the night.

The next day we drove back to London - we were way behind schedule but I didn't care - at keast not at first. I felt free and terribly happy.  The full impact of what I was doing became clearer as London grew closer. I was supposed to be meeting my boyfriend of nine years from the airport and we were late.  Not only were we late but he had landed and was calling to find out where I was.

R was unceremoniously bundled from car in a parking bay on one floor of the arrival car park (a boarding school goodbye with the associated ache) as I drove back to arrivals and met my boyfriend.  I felt the guilt must've been written all over my face and I remember being asked why the passenger seat was so far forward a seemingly innocent question which felt laden with god knows what implications.

The next day the tension of that journey manifested itself in the fact that I couldn't walk.

So now let's rewind 2 years

I'd come back from a business trip to Scotland.

Home early and disinclined to start supper I was trading messages on a gay chatline. For once there was a guy who sounded utterly normal midst a crowd of desperate sounding married  men home alone and boys fantasising about dressing in ladies knickers.

We exchanged voice messages and agreed to chat. He was reserved and cautious but with a modest charm that I thought was lovely. We continued to text after we spoke that night, presenting silly caricatures of each other in a half-hearted attempt to put the other off. The next morning I texted as I walked to work "beautiful sunny morning warming my face" - his response "simple pleasures" struck a chord. We agreed to meet for a beer.

Two days later there he was outside Sainsburys.  We sat in the sun outside a local pub a drank pint.  God knows what we talked about but this felt like a big deal for both of us.